It's Just an Infatuation
by ThatIsVeryInteresting
Summary: Violet Benoit buys the Moulin Rouge and all that it comes with; ghosts, devils and above all else, love. ChristianxOC
1. The Old Girl

"Violet Benoit?" The rather large man standing inside of an old broken door frame asked. He wasn't so large as in "fat" but more as in "larger than life," even when dressed in old dusty clothes.

Harold Zidler was a red-headed, curly haired ring-leader in a show that thousands of men, and some women, came to see from around the world: The Moulin Rouge. His constant use of electricity was one of things that brought the patrons in but more so where the young scantly clad women, his "diamond dogs," that were there to entertain the masses.

However, almost a year had passed since the Moulin Rouge was closed. The news papers had said it was do to the loss of Zidler's "Sparkling Diamond," Satine. They said she was "a brighter light than anything Zidler's electricity could produce." But those who were close to the man in charge knew better. They knew it was The Duke who had taken charge. After the death of Satine, he merely closed the club down and let it fall into ruin.

"Merely" isn't how one small reporter in a small article in a tiny newspaper had put it. "A lover scorned closes the Moulin Rouge forever! Due to affair with writer who was publicly seen with the prized diamond in Mademoiselle Satine's final performance."

"Monsieur Zidler." Violet said. Her dark auburn hair was placed carefully in a bun and hid under a dark green velvet hat, her porcelain skin and hazel eyes were brought out by her dark outfit. Her bodice was made up of the same fabric as the hat, while the skirt was a dark green, thick type fabric with an ivy print throughout it's length. "I have come to pay my respects to the dear Moulin Rouge."

Zidler was still standing in the doorway with a mild look of shock and awe plastered upon his face. "Are you THE Violet Benoit? Of THE Benoit family?" Violet smiled and chuckled.

"I am. Now, as I am here to pay my respects, I was wondering if I could ask for your company while I visit her."

Harold Zidler shook his head and smiled wildly. "Well I don't see why not. It has been a while since I've seen the old girl, ghosts and all. Let me get my coat and I will be out-or would you like tea?" He asked spur of the moment. "How rude of me, leaving a Benoit out in the streets! Please come in side." He moved so she could enter but she stayed where she was.

"Monsieur Zidler, I must decline. I have a dear friend waiting." She smiled.

"Oh..." He thought for a moment before turning his head. "Marie! I'm leaving!"

"And where are you going?" A screechy woman's voice was flew out of the kitchen.

"Out!" Zidler replied while he put an arm in his jacket's sleeve.

"Out! You're always going out and you always come back drunk! I don't think this-" Zidler closed the door.

"Women." He said under his breath as he walked down the small pathway that led to the street. "No, my car is-"

"I figured we would walk." Violet said as she began walking down the street. "I already asked my driver to meet us there."

"I see." Zidler stood in what seemed to be thought for a moment, but quickly caught up to Violet who was half way down the block. "These old bones aren't what they use to be you know. Cutting a rug on the dance floor and all." He joked. Miss Benoit only continued walking. "If you don't mind me asking," Zidler chimed up after a few minutes of silence. "What's Violet Benoit doing in wanting to see the Moulin Rouge? It's just a broken down shack now."

"I'm going to buy it." The two turned a corner where they ran into a hand full of street musicians.

"Buy the Moulin Rouge? But you're family...they buy stocks! They buy estates!"

"And I buy shacks." Violet smirked at Zidler. 

"Mademoiselle Benoit, I do not mind going with you, but I don't have the deeds to the Moulin Rouge..."

"I know that. I know how to read newspapers. However, I need someone to run the business aspect. Someone to a well known figure head. For this business to work, I need you."

Harold Zidler stopped in his tracks, his eyes beginning to water. "You're joking."

"Monsieur Zidler, I don't joke about this kind of thing. I save my sense of humor for parties and other such gatherings. Now, if we will proceed continue our walk, we must meet with my friend to sign some papers." Zidler continued to be unmoving, his wet eyes growing wide.

"The Duke?"

"No. The Duke's lawyer and a friend of mine, Monsieur DePaul. Now hurry, before we are late."


	2. People Will Say Things

Harold Zidler pushed open the two large doors that were once part of a grand entrance to a grand place of a sort of worship. Not to any God but to the human body. Some even said that it was a place of sin.

"There she is." Zidler commented as Violet entered.

"And there is Jasper DePaul!" Violet walked forward, her arms wide as she embraced the man who was standing in the center of the room, who also smiling from ear to ear. "It's been so long!" She exclaimed. "I'm glad you could make it." Jasper placed his hands on her shoulders and took a good look at her.

"I wouldn't miss helping you for the world Vi! And would you look at this place?" Jasper looked around with a bit of disgust.

"I think it's marvelous don't you Monsieur DePaul?" Violet walked to the stage at the end of the aisle. On each side of the path there were broken chairs laced with cobwebs; many of them missing because of thieves and and the like.

"If this is what one would call 'marvelous?'" He asked, mostly to himself.

"I will take it!" She said, dancing around the stage.

Although she was nearly 24, this place brought a type of energy that was unparallelled, ask any doctor and they would all tell you "It's like she practically reverted in age, all the way to childhood!"

"Now, couldn't we talk about this first?" Jasper asked as he walked forward. Even though they were the same age, he had always been in charge. His head always in the books while hers was in the sky. Many thought the two would marry. Jasper being a handsome man, well built and well liked by society, and Violet was part of the Benoit family, heiress to the whole fortune.

"Who needs to talk when one could just act?" She took a pose center stage that brought tears to Monsieur Zidler's eyes. Zidler was sitting in the back on one of the old chairs watching the two young people go at their, more or less, bickering; but when he saw her pose the same way his Sparkling Diamond had during her last performance, her hands up in the air, over her head, he almost bolted out of the Moulin Rouge and back to Marie. He had played that night over and over in his mind, which led to him having a serious drinking problem and not to mention headache. Zidler did his best to stay calm until the papers were signed.

"A grown person investing much of her money in something has to talk about it." Jasper said harshly. Violet stopped smiling immediately.

"Alright Jasper I will talk seriously." She patted down her skirts softly and walked forward slowly. "Jasper, this place is filled with potential. It had loyal patrons only a year ago that I am sure would happily return. This is a sure fire thing." Jasper began to chuckle slightly. "What?" Violet looked all around her, looking for a stain or something on her person that was causing his laughter.

"You never were a lady. Do you know what they will say? 'Mademoiselle Benoit buys a house of sin! _That_ is what they will say. They will also say that 'Mademoiselle Benoit is a-"

"I don't care what they say Monsieur DePaul. I want to sign the papers." She said stubbornly.

"He's right you know." Zidler stood from the back. "Nothing good comes from this place..."

* * *

"You mean nothing good came from this place." Violet retorted. "I am going to change that. Zidler, call all your girl, men. This stage _will _be lit again and I promise you, it will be the best thing since, since the Eiffel Tower." She smiled and walked down to Jasper. "Now my friend, where are those papers the Duke sent you with?" 

-One Week Later-

"Chwishtian!" A tiny artist named Toulouse-Lautrec ran into the young writer's room, slamming his door into the thin wall. "Chwishtian!"

Christian, a now very thin and worn young man stood near his window dressed in an old suit, his arm against the frail frame, looking out over France.

"Chwishtian!" The dwarf repeated yet again. "They are reopenin-"

"I know Toulouse." Christian said solemnly. He turned slowly to face his friend. For the first time in a year, Christian was clean shaven and his hair done rather than lay in a giant heap on top of his pale face. Toulouse's arms fell to his side.

"Chwishtian? Where are you gowing?"

"I finished my book." Christian began to fiddle with his hat.

"Wewll, what does that mean for us?"

"Get on with your life Toulouse. I've gotten on with mine." He took the manuscript that laid on his desk and walked past his old friend and out of the apartment.

Toulouse-Lautrec had gotten on with his life, painting and dreaming. Christian on the other hand, grew up. As far as Christian was concerned, the Bohemian Revolution was over. Toulouse walked over to the window and looked over at the old Moulin Rouge and found in busy with workers. "This is it!" He said to himself, "The revolution isn't dead, it was just sweeping!" The dwarf ran up the tiny latter and into his apartment that he shared with a few fellow bohemians to tell them the news.

The Moulin Rouge was back, and so was the Bohemian Revolution.


	3. THE Moulin Rouge?

THE Moulin Rouge?

_Chapter 3_

A Few Hours Later

Violet Benoit wasn't a morning person in the slightest. She hadn't had that motivation to do her hair and barely had the energy to lace her corset to make herself acceptable for a public outing. She looked at herself in the mirror, brushing a bit of rouge across her cheeks and took a step back. "They're only workers, I don't think they would care if I ran around in pants." She sighed and put her make up on the table next to her.

The room she was in was small in comparison to the large houses she had called home for most of her life. It's décor consisted of brown everywhere, from bed sheets to dressers. The cheap wallpaper curled at the edges due to water damage, age and in some cases, both. Violet heard the bell tower from a few blocks away and grabbed her purse. She knew that a tardy worker was a worker who didn't care. She opened her door and walked quickly out, not wanting to be one of them.

Violet Benoit always expected the unexpected. Violet Benoit however, never expects the expected. The "expected" being someone else walking in the same hall as herself. This would be normal to a normal person, but not to someone who has had waves of people move aside at the sound of her rather familiar name. Her body collided with that of the unknown person before her; whose own body then collided with the ground.

"Forgive me!" She exclaimed, offering her hand to the man on the floor. "Here, let me help you." She grabbed his hand and lifted him off the wooden boards. It was then she noticed that he was exactly half her size.

"Mademoiselle, I aswer you dat dis was compwetewy my fawlt." He brushed the dirt off of his outfit which consisted of a lederhosen, rather large boots, a clearly false mustache and a top hat. She smiled.

"Why are you dressed so strangely?" Her head turned to the side. Her smile was greeted by one from the tiny man before her.

"Mademoiselle, I could ask you the same qwestion." He looked at the elegant dress the woman was wearing, wondering where she was off too in this part of town dressed like that. The woman stuck out her hand.

"My name is Violet Be-" Violet paused. The last time she told anyone her real name she was thought to be a silly child buying a shack with her parents money. "Berry. Violet Berry." The small man smiled, taking her hand.

"What a beautiful name fowr a beautiful woman." He kissed the back of her hand. "My name is Henri Marie Raymond de _Toulouse_-_Lautrec_-Monfa but most of my fwiends just call me_ Toulouse _and I have a fewling we are going to be gweat fwiends." Violet took back her hand and curtsied.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Toulouse and I hate to cut this conversation short but I must be going."

"Must you? Where ever you are going must be vewy important, you wooking wike a pwincess and all."

Violet blushed. Toulouse-Lautrec waited for her to continue, patiently smiling. "I," She started,

"am going down to the Moulin Rouge."

Toulouse's eyes widened. "THE Moulin Rouge?" He hobbled into the girls room in which the door was still wide opened and looked out the window. Violet tried in vain to stop the tiny man on a mission.

"That one? That one whight there?"

"Monsieur, I do not think it appropriate for you to be in my quarters." Her voice was calm and caring. She knew that bohemians rarely had time for personal boundaries and wasn't going to be angered by this small disregard.

Toulouse-Lautrec looked down at the building across the street, its hallways filled with workers.

"And you are gowing to the Moulin Rouge?" He turned to her.

"I know the woman that owns it." She smiled and motioned towards the door.

"Well den." He made his way out of the door. "As my new fwiend, you must know that my other fwiends, and myswelf of course, write wonderful music and pways that we performed at the Moulin Rouge." He paused and thought for a moment before jumping for joy. "I am almost positive that I can get our writer to write a new piece for the Gwand Re-opening." His grin ran from one ear the the next.

"Monsieur that's not-"

"Twell YOUR fwiend that it will be done just in time for the dowrs to open. With that my dear, adieu." He bowed quickly and ran to the door around the corner of the hall, a loud slam shaking the few frames on the walls. Violet sighed and closed her door, locking it behind her and began to make her way towards the Moulin Rouge.

_–_

Christian walked down the cold street, his mind running through the conversation he had just gone through.

"I'm afraid I don't understand." Christian replied, his eyes searching those of the three soulless men before him, all dressed to the nines.

"It's just, not what we are looking for at this time." The burly man sitting in the middle of the large polished oak table said. His voice rough from years of fine cigars and tobacco.

"You see," Christian's eyes flew to the frailer looking man to the right. "People want a thriller." He began to laugh. "No one but a few housewives would want a love story. I mean, it doesn't even have a happy ending." The burly man and the short pudgy one to his left joined in the laughter.

"A happy ending?" Christian was confused. "Sirs, there are no happy endings. There never were. What you are reading in those stories are lies. You are feeding helpless women and families everywhere with filthy lies." The men immediately stopped laughing and grew silent. Finally, the middle large man, whose face had begun to turn a slight shade of red, spoke.

"Monsieur. We gave you our opinion of your book. We feel that a book about falling in love with a silly cancan dancer and not giving it a happy ending is to dark for this company. We do not wish to lose money on such gruesome and slanderous topic."

"It's the truth! Every word happened!" Christian stood and yelled.

"Then you monsieur," The pudgy man said. "need to stop crying about it and find a better woman who isn't a whore." Christian flew across the table.

Christian sat down on the curb of the street, his manuscript in hand. "I'm sorry Satine." He whispered, his fingers running over the ink of the cover. He had thought he had a new life waiting for him. He had hoped that this would give him an out of Paris; of France; he even wanted to get away from Europe. Every sight, every sound here reminded him of Satine...

There was a loud crash came from the end of the block. Christian lifted his head slightly and looked. The Moulin Rouge loomed in the distances, it's windmill like a giant knife being shoved through his heart. He turned away and continued to try and think of a new life plan, of a new career. Before he thinking was even a possibility, he heard a cry from the same area the crash had come from. Christian jumped off the ground and ran, forgetting his manuscript on the ground.

* * *

_ANMPRODUCTIONS: And I did see? :D_

_KACHINAGIRL: I am working on that. (bringing it to life I mean) I am Frankenstein and this is my monster. :P_

_Thank you both for reviewing/reading! You guys are awesome and it's because of you that I updated! _

_:D _


	4. Pain

**Pain**

_Chapter 4_

Disclaimer: I do not own "Moulin Rouge" or its characters.

Violet's hand flew to the back of her head as a whimper of pain left her lips. 'They were right.' She thought to her self as her fingers came in contact with a warm liquid and she already knew what it was. Her back was screaming in agony, but she didn't want to give the male workers the satisfaction of hearing her cry. She laid on the ground for what seemed like hours before she heard a pair of shoes run up to her. With a heavy sigh she smiled.

"Jasper, it seems I've fallen and I-oh..." She looked up at the man who was now kneeling besides her.

"Are you alright?" He asked as he took off his jacket and began to lift her head, but stopped as she bit her lip in pain. "I'm no doctor, but I will take that as a 'no.'"

"Well Monsieur..."

"O'Connor." He said as his hands gently tried to lift her head once more and succeeding in doing so, placed the jacket under her head.

"Monsieur O'Connor, you really don't have to do this. I am quite capable of handling myself, thank you." She tried to move but could not do so.

"Is there anyone I can fetch you?"

"No." Her blunt words where harsh and her eyes filled with dread. If the workers inside knew that she couldn't handle the simple task of climbing a ladder and cleaning out the gutters she wont be able to do anything ever again. It was then, as her eyes were as large as saucers, that she was able to get a good look at the man leaning over her.

He was handsome, and ruggedly so. A five-o-clock shadow slowly forming around his face while his dark hair was beautifully arranged on the top of his head, save for a few strands that gravity had falling over his face as he looked her over with care. 'He must be very important.' She thought as she looked over his outfit, minus the jacket of course. 'Perhaps a politician or someone else of high class." It was at this realization that she jumped up "You don't-!", her head, moving so quickly as to not give him time to move, then collided with his. The pain this caused to the already wounded girl made quick of putting her to sleep.

Christian O'Connor rubbed his head and laughed slightly. He needed this more than anything right now. A clumsy woman sitting outside of a whore house giving him a unnecessary headache. Christian looked down at the girl with a small smile and found that her face had turned the color of fresh snow. His heart raced as he put her head in his lap, fanning her frantically.

"Wake up! Mademoiselle please, I really don't need your death on my hands!" He placed her head back on the jacket, the blood from her head wound leaving a stain on his only pair of good trousers. Swiftly he straddled her and began to look for any sign of life...or death. He lifted her eyes to see if they were dilated, he checked her pulse and then leaned down to see if she was breathing. Before he could be certain, a hand yanked on his shoulder, sending him to the ground. The next thing he noticed was a severe amount of pain to his face.

Christian's pleas, though few, for the man to stop were going unnoticed as he was slowly being pummeled to death.

"How dare you defile an innocent woman!" The man on top of him yelled. Christian tried to speak, but every time he did so, a mere gurgle would escape his lips.

"Monsieur DePaul!" Christian's ears, or what was left of them, perked up. The voice sounded familiar. However, in the state he was in, all the voice sounded muffled and similar.

"Monsieur Zidler, this man had defiled Mademoiselle Benoit!" That was it! Harold Zidler! Christian didn't know whither to be happy for the large man stopping this DePaul fellow from beating him or run...due to his current circumstances, Christian stuck with the former rather than the later.

Zidler grabbed DePaul and stood him up. "Wouldn't you rather check on the girl before you go around beating perhaps an innocent bi-standard?" The man stood in silence for a moment before releasing a sigh and rushing over to his unconscious friend.

Christian leaned to one side, the blood from his mouth falling to the moist ground, forming large red puddles underneath him.

"Christian," Christian looked at Zidler who had bent down to be on the same level as his old acquaintance. "What are you doing here?"

Christian wiped his mouth with his sleeve. By this point in this odd day, he would be needing a new suit anyway. "I heard a scream and came to see if I could help." His voice was pained but otherwise fine. "Funny how in the end I was the one who needed the rescuing." Christian sat up with a grunt.

"You shouldn't be here Christian." Zidler grabbed his beaten man's arm and lifted him up.

"Don't worry Zidler, I was just on my way home." With one look at the girl who was the cause of his pain, he began his trek back to his apartment to see his good friend the Green Fairy whom he needed now more than ever.

–

Violet Benoit was just beginning to expected the expected when something unexpected hits her right in the head. She sat in a make-shift bed in the old office of Monsieur Zidler thinking about what caused her current condition. 'O'Connor.' She thought to herself. 'Defiantly not french...come to think of it, neither was his accent.' She began to move to try and find comfort but all that happened was a moan of protest from every part of her being made its way through her mouth. She laid back in her first position and sighed, her mind going back to the topic of her not so heroic hero.

'Maybe he had a big meeting to go to. Politicians usually have meetings.' She smiled as she thought of the life of a stranger. 'Then after the meeting, he would go back to his two story home to have dinner with his family. He probably has at least three kids with a wife who cooks him everything!' She began to laugh though her ribs screamed out. 'Or maybe he is a bachelor who looks for love in all the wrong places...or the right ones. He maybe has so many lovers, he can't keep their names straight. He-'

"Mademoiselle Benoit! You are awake!" Jasper said as he made his way across the room. Violet smiled as Jasper knelt down next to her. "You gave us quite a scare."

"It was an accident, mainly caused by the skirts I was wearing might I add." Since her fall, they had taken off her corset and skirts leaving only the bare essentials and a blanket to cover her body from the prying eyes of all the workers.

"Mademoiselle, you were doing a man's job."

"And I was doing it well until my skirt got caught and-"

"What matters, Violet, is that you are safe." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. This wasn't a new occurrence for the two. He had always treated her like a sister or close cousin...but something was different about this kiss...this kiss held more than a friendship in its intent.

Her eyes, not wanting to look at the man before her found their way to a simple object resting on the back of one of the office chairs in the room.

"O'Connor's Jacket!"

–

_Sorry it took so long! I have been super busy and will be so for about the next week, but after that, I will be updating often! :D _

_AmyNY: Thank you for reviewing! And where I will go with it? Oh my, there is a wild ride ahead I assure you! _

_Deathcab4kimmie: I like characters to have character and I am happy you like it too! :D And I won't leave it, and that is thanks impart to the puppy dog eyes! _

_Jennie124016: ohh! I feel like a supplier! -rubs nose- I got the stuff...-sniff- You got the dough? Lol jk! I don't charge because is the seller. Tricky! Thanks for reviewing and I am glad I can help an addict in need. _

_So, to all you readers out there, what do you think?_


	5. It's Only Rubbish

**It's Only Rubbish**

Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own "Moulin Rouge" or it's characters.

Christian slowly made his way back to his apartment. The door seemed heavy as he pushed it open with all the energy he had left. When the shell of the man he once was entered the small room, it felt different. Empty.

The room itself had been full of pages used to write his work of art. His book. Their book. Christian's heart began to race.

'Where is it?' He thought to himself as he frantically searched through his pockets, knowing full well it couldn't be in the tiny holes in the now blood stained cloth. He rushed through the room, opening drawers, cabinets, anything that could hide the remains of his loves memory.

Then he remembered.

"No!" His heart felt as if it was going to fly out of his chest to search for the work its-self. He flew out of the door, ready to search every ally, but was stopped.

"Chwishtian!" Christian's eyes fell upon the small dwarf from upstairs who was now dressed as a goat with a purple fez atop his head.

"Toulouse, I can not speak right now." Christian tried to move around the small man but failed. Toulouse raised his hands in a 'stop' motion, a grin stretching from ear to ear. Frustrated, Christian sighed and ran his hand roughly through his hair. "Spit it out!"

"Dare is a woman that wifs in this building-"

"Yes, yes. That tends to happen from time to time. Now, if you will excuse me-"

"She knows the woman who owns de Moulin Rouge! And, well, we are going to right a pway! Well, I guess, you will be doing the wighting, but we! We will be your paint brushes as you paint on stage a wok of ahrt!" Toulouse smiled, his mind bursting with possibilities while his friends mind was only flood with urgency and what was quickly becoming anger.

"Ah you not excited Chwishtian?"

"Toulouse, I gave up that type of dreaming along time ago. And as far as the owner, any woman who has anything to do with that, that, whore house-" He grunted as he pushed back the miniature artist and rushed down the hall.

"Dweaming? How, how can somewon give up what they ah born to do?"

–

Violet finished lacing up the back of her dress. There was only one way she was going to get back to her apartment and it was not going to be in the nude. She let out a pained moan as fabric touched the bruised parts of her flesh.

"That's it," Her hands were careful as they worked their way around the bandages the doctor had placed on her small head wound and placed her hair up in a loose fitted hat to cover the injury from sight. "I'm buying pants." Her heels clicked on the wooden floor as she grabbed a bag that was full of the extra clothes she had worn. (corsets, extra skirts, etc.)

The light was starting to fade outside and the longer she waited the more dangerous the streets would become. She opened the door, walked down a few halls and finally into the large dance hall area. The smell of fresh paint made its way into her nose and through her body. It didn't make her sick like she thought it would...in fact, it gave her hope. It was like she was saving a life, or perhaps even picturing it as a child, her child, being born.

The large room was quiet and empty. If she wasn't hurting Violet would have danced in that hall all night and never go home; but she was hurting. She limped her way out of the Moulin Rouge and into the street.

The ladder she had fallen off of was long since put away and everything had an slight orange tint washed over it as the sun was setting. The Moulin Rouge looked as if it was set a flame by the contrasting colors and movements of the dying light on the windows.

Slowly but surly, Violet Benoit was on her way back to her small home. Her mind slowly drifted off, though not to a place where she thought it would go.

"_Violet." The harsh tones of the older woman standing behind an even older looking man rang through every bone in Violet's being. "How dare you disgrace your family in such a way?" _

_Violet looked down at her mud covered dress. Her frail, "newly" woman body quivered at the gaze of her parents. Although she was twenty years of age, she was just now blossoming. Her "ugly duckling" stage had taken up most of her teenage years and she was now becoming what she would be for the rest of her life, a lovely woman with poise, grace and it was the family before her that molded her to be that way for one purpose, marriage. _

"_I am sorry Mama...Papa. I didn't mean to-"_

"_You have disgraced us!" Her mother shrieked, her face red with anger. She took a small fan and moved it quickly to try and cool herself down to no avail. _

_Violet's face hung low. _

_Although very few in society knew it, Violet Benoit promised her hand in marriage. Not willingly of course. It was due to status; at this point, becoming a duchess was the most obtainable prize for young Violet. This came at the price of promising her hand to Charles Edward, the soon to be Duke __of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, who, at the tender age of eight, didn't have much say in the matter. _

"_Excuse me for saying so but he was the one who ran into the-" Violet began. Her mother slapped the fan in her hands together and burned her eyes into the young woman. _

"_You are twenty." Her father pipped in. His voice was soothing...and disappointed. Far worse than the blood curtailing shill of her mother. "After all the other suitors, you were lucky with Charles." _

"_I know Papa, but-" _

"_I had never hoped to see my daughter become a spinster, but at this point there seems to be no hope for you to ever marry." He sighed and stood. "The engagement was never made public, thank God for that, however, you pushing the boy into the mud was seen by those most important in society." _

"_I was trying to catch hi-" She began, but stopped at the warning look her father cast her way. _

"_I am sorry dearest Violet," Her father walked towards the door, followed closely by his wife who didn't even glance at her tearful daughter. "You are no longer aloud in this household." _

"_No..." She whispered. _

"_We will give you enough money to live on the remainder of your lonely life." He opened the door. "I never wish to see your face again Miss Benoit." _

"_Papa no! I didn't do it!" Mr. and Mrs. Benoit left the room, leaving Violet alone. She fell to the ground, stunned. _

A lone tear fell down Violets cheek as she made her way down the darkened streets. Raising her hand, she stopped and wiped it off slowly.

"Excuse me." A voice came from the alley to her right. Had she seen it there in the first place she wouldn't have stopped so close.

"I'm sorry sir, I don't have any money on me." Her heart pounded in her chest. One of her worst fears happened to be darkened corners of any type, alleys included. All of the scum in the world seemed to flock to those cold and dirty places lining the streets of any district.

The figure slowly made it's way into the light. With each step closer, the tighter Violet's grip on her purse became. Her mind thought of escape routes. If she was to have a running start she could make her way to the apartment building in less than thirty seconds. However, it was far to late for that option. She was going to have to stay and fight. 'but what if he sees my bruises? The blood on my dress? He will know I am weak...he will try and take advantage of me!'

Violet stood tall, as not to give away her weak points, though her body screamed in protest.

"Then what can I do to you fine sir?" He voice was far to smart. 'What if he knows I have money? Damn, I need to dumb my voice down a-'

"Have you seen a book?" The man was still in the dark, kicking around rubbish that was on the ground and digging through old boxes that lined the alley.

Violet's face contorted in confusion. "I'm sorry? A book?...is that some type of drug?"

"Drug? No. Not a drug. A book...with words?" The voice was familiar, through she didn't know from where.

"I'm sorry, no." Violet squinted her eyes, trying to form out the face of the nameless figure. "Excuse me but, don't I know you from somewhere?"

The man gave a large sigh. "Maybe? Do you visit the pubs often? That's where most of my time is-"

"No I-" The man made his way into the light, his eyes searching up and down the street. "You!" Violet smiled.

**I am starting to get back into the swing of things. It might take me awhile to update all regular like, but it will happen :D I can't leave ya'll hangin' now can I? Any questions about this story, I WILL answer them, all ya need do is ask.**

**Thanks to **_PaintMeAntagonist_** and **_jennie124016_** for reviewing! Your comments made me smile and helped get this chapter out. Thank you soo much!**


	6. Truth

Violets face brightened up the dark alley way. "You are the man that rescued me! O'Connor, was it?" Christian didn't care to look up. He was now bent down, looking through every box and bag.

"Yes well..." He began, but never found the words to finish. (Not that he was looking for them to begin with.) Violet waited for a moment, hoping for the man's sentence to be completed...it didn't. The air seemed to grow stale with emptiness.

As he continued his search, Violet began to take a sort of "inventory" of him. He didn't necessarily have the same gangly skeletal look that most of the bohemians around the area had. He was around five feet and either nine to ten inches tall and, while very thin, still had_ some _meat on his bones. This meaning he had at least some money. Her first thought of him as a business men seemed wrong now. He didn't really seem put together at all. In fact, he seemed completely lost. His suit, or what was left of it, was covered in a dark substance that...

"Your coat!" Violet yelled, her voice bounced off the walls and into the empty street. She frantically searched through her bag and grabbed his suit jacket while she began to limp over to him. He looked up at her, then to his jacket that she held out with a huge grin. His eyes, still red from worry and exhaustion took in the sight, and with a large sigh he took his jacket. He then threw it over his shoulder before he began to search a pile of what seemed to be week old bread that a baker just couldn't sell. As another moment of silence went by, Violets grin faded into a look more of concern.

"Look," Christian spoke finally, breaking the stillness. "It's not that I don't find your company completely, _enthralling_ but, if you are going to help me, then help me. If you are going to stand idly by, then please go to your home. You took quite a fall today and-" He stopped and looked up at her. "What are you doing out here alone with out an escort?"

"Oh! Me? I was just, heading home from work is all. You see, I live right around the corner there." She smiled. "Not to far at all."

Christian stood up brushing the crumbs and other debris off his pants. "I might as well take you home."

"Monsieur O'Connor, I assure you," She began to walk closer to Christian. "I am only clumsy once in a-" Her foot slipped into a crack in the brick road sending her already weak body falling forward and into Christian's arms. "Perhaps I should just, head back."

"Would you like me to-"

"No, I'm a big girl. You're busy and again, I'm not too far_. Thank you." _She smiled awkwardly before she limped away.

* * *

_Toulouse-Lautrec_ stood in front of a half-sized mirror, admiring the suit he had just won in a game of poker. Sure it needed to be tailored a bit, but a nice suit was a nice suit! He fixed his top hat and grinned at himself. Then, a knock came at the door.

"Howld on pwease!" Toulouse rushed to the door, nearly tripping on the hem of the pants. "Just a mowment!" His excited voice rang. He always loved company. It gave him a good excuse to drink.

Once he unlocked the latch the door flew open, revealing a very worn and terrible looking Violet Berry. Nothing like what he had seen walk out of the building early in the day.

"My dawling, what has happened to you?" His eyes, filled with worry, looked her up and down as he motioned her inside. She quickly excepted and made her way straight to the small worn out chaise lounge in the corner of his room.

"I'm a twit!" She cried in anger and tossed herself on the couch. A small whimper of pain escaped her lips.

"Awe you?" Toulouse sat on a nearby chair and watched as the girl before him had, what seemed to be, a mental breakdown.

"I am! I mean, all I could do was _stand_ there! The man saved me for goodness sake!" She took a deep breath. "Twice!"

"Oh..." He fiddled with the cane in his hand.

"I shouldn't be feeling this way. No. I need to have my head straight. I mean, I have a-" She looked at Toulouse and backed up what she was going to say. "friend who owns a club and I need to help, you know, _her _get it set up." She put her hand on her forehead and closed her eyes.

"Mademoiselle," The tiny figure stood and walked over to her. "You seem infatuwated."

"Infatuated? No. I just meet the guy when I fell. Ha! I just met _you_ and here I am spilling all of this-" She took a deep breath and stood. "I'm just, very grateful that he helped me at a time when I needed help and I wish to show my gratitude...in a sensible way of course!"

"Love." He smiled, his toothy grin all knowing. Violet's eyes grew wide.

"Love, Monsieur, takes years to acquire. I'm not even completely sure my parents were in love at _ANY_ given time." She laughed, her head writhing in pain. "I'm almost positive the ability to love is in ones breeding; thus making it impossible for someone like me to love."

"Dats not it at twall." He walked over and sat down on the couch, patting the spot next to him. Violet sat obediently. "I see the bohemian spiwit running hall thwough you."

"Do you?" She laughed.

"I do. Fweedom is something you have to earn, but not fwom someone else, but fwom yourself. It seems dat you have done that at one point or another to get here. Trufth, is a buwilding block of all the ideas of mankind. Beauty, isn't just skin deep my dewer. Look at you! A mess sitting on my cowch and yet you are by far one of de most beawtiful creatwres I have seen...becawse of what's in side."

"And love?" She asked, her pale cheeks where now a slight red.

"Love, thowgh it may hwurt, is a possibility that is in everyone. Awl you have to do is have your heart open, only den will you see de unseen." They smiled for a moment before Toulouse stood rather quickly. "Now! How abowt some absinthe to clear your mind!"

* * *

Christian sighed as he walked through the empty streets. Several hours had gone by and he had yet to find the manuscript. "It's all because of that stupid-" he stopped as a couple rounded the corner. Their smiles and drunken laughter made Christian nauseous. 'I hate that couple.' He said to himself as they walked off. "I hate this city. Paris, the 'city of love.' More like the city of pain and suffering. The city of lonely old men living on the street and sinful women throwing themselves onto them." He fell to the ground. "I hate love." He put his head on his knees.

"Christian." A dark voice echoed into his ear. Christian looked up and found a familiar red headed man in front of him. He put his head down once more. "You are a broken man."

"Funny," Christian stood abruptly. It was then that he noticed he had stopped in front of Monsieur Zidler's home. "coming from someone who was holding the hammer."

'Of _course_ I end up here.' He thought.

"My boy, you must listen to me. It was for the best. She would have used you and left; your heart still being broken."

"You lie!" Christian yelled. "You are nothing but the devil Zidler! And you are opening up the Moulin Rouge to welcome more unsuspecting souls to their doom."

"I'm not doing it because I want to, but because I have too." Zidler's face grew dark. "I too am a broken man. My whole life's work thrown out before it had time to truly fly. I loved the Moulin Rouge more than anyone should love anything. Christian, Satine loved the Moulin Rouge."

"She hated the Moulin Rouge!"

"No...**_you_** hated the Moulin Rouge, **_she_** craved it. She wanted every man to love her Christian. Not just you. You were blinded by love...a fools love."

Christian reeled back, ready to throw a punch at the larger man who merely closed his eyes, but he didn't. Christian turned around furiously and walked back to his home. He needed to have a talk with Toulouse.

_

* * *

_

Alright, I know I know, it's been sometime. If there are any problems with it not matching the story etc, that would be why. I hit a wall and then I got busy...not a good mix. This is kinda a "breaking the wall" chapter and is there merely for that reason lol

HOWEVER! I have PLENTY of time on my hands to update now! :D

I want to thank those of you who stuck around. I can't wait to go deeper into the characters. I just want to get this drama out of the way haha.

Yours, Lorraine Jane


	7. The Hangover

**The Hangover**

Chapter 7

Christian stood at his window, watching the sun rise over the remains of a dead city. He looked out and saw the empty buildings. He witnessed those same structures, that had once been vibrant and so full of life only a year ago, rust and waste away. His senses were bombarded with the sights, sounds and smell of the poor and needy. He himself being one, felt very little pity. He closed his eyes to block out the sin of the world.

It was then that a noise came from the door and suddenly, a figure barged in. Christian's eyes grew wide.

"Excuse me," It was the same girl as before! She leaned on the door for support. "I don't think this is my room." Christian's mouth hung open. In a matter of hours, he had run into this same woman three different times; more rather, she into him. "No, its too...depressing. _You_ monsieur are a depressing person to live in a place like this." She slurred as she sauntered her way over to a nearby dresser and quickly began touching the few photos that made the top of it their home.

"Mademoiselle-"

"You know, you should really go see that short fellow. He does _wonders_ for the soul." She grinned drunkenly.

"Madmoi-"

"Although, he has that lissssss-pah." She walked over to the man who icily watched her move far to close. "Do you have a lisss-pah? I don't think you do...you're just, depressing."

"You've stated that." Christian's voice was as cold as his stare.

"I have?" She looked confused for a moment before smiling. "You know what you need? You need a drink. Monsieur-" She moved ever closer, her face within a few inches of his still, unmoving features. "Well, if you would stop moving so I could get a good look at you I would-"

"Mademoiselle, please leave before you-"

Violet's eyes slowly closed as she fell into his arms. Christian had half a mind to drop her on the floor. However, after the fall from earlier, even he couldn't be that heartless. He held her from beneath her arms and dragged her over to his small bed and laid her down.

Her breathing was slow, but there. Christian looked down at the pale girl, her wounds from the fall still wrapped up. She was quite attractive and looked as if she came from wealth. Why had she come to work at the Moulin Rouge as a construction worker? Something was a miss.

"_You know, you should really go see that short fellow."_

"Toulouse!" He turned quickly and left for the apartment up the stairs. It was at a time like this that he wished he hadn't patched the hole in his ceiling. He climbed the creaky steps and ended up at the old wooden door. Without knocking, he turned the nob and let himself in.

The apartment smelled of fresh paint and liquor. Although it was common throughout the streets of Montmartre, the smell itself was distinctly Monsieur Lautrec's.

"Toulouse?" Christian called out. His shoes lightly tapped the floor boards as he walked. "Toulouse!" He walked into the small kitchen and peeked in. Nothing. "You know, there is a very drunk girl in my room and, since you seem to know her fairly well, if you wouldn't mind getting her out..." He peered over the couch and found his short friend passed out on the floor with an empty bottle of Absinthe in his hand. With a sigh, Christian grabbed the drunken dwarf off the ground and placed him on the couch which he had appeared to have fallen off of.

"You don't mind if I stay here do you?" Christian asked. He grabbed Toulouse's unconscious head and shook it. "I didn't think so." With that, Christian laid his friend down and walked over to the tiny bed.

* * *

Violet's eyes fluttered open and quickly closed shut with a moan escaping her lips.

The sun seemed to be extremely bright for this early and her head throbbed at its radiant glow. Even the light seemed to have its own screeching sound pound in her head. She slowly sat up. The springs of the bed she was on squealed with displeasure. She fell backwards again. It was to early.

"Good afternoon!" A familiar voice boomed in her ears. "I see dat you had a pleasuwable sleep!" Toulouse walked over with a small tray in hand. "So much so dat you can not get up!" He giggled as he placed the tray down on a near by table.

"What time is it?" Violet asked, slowly trying to open her eyes again.

"Why its neawly fowr in the afternoon."

"Four!" Violet shot up. Before she could go anywhere, the pain made her stop and hold her head in her hands. "I have work!"

"Coorrection! You DID have work."

"Did? Did? There is still PLENTY of time too-" She went to stand, but once again was stopped. Not by the pain in her back or the pain in her head, but by the small man's tiny hands pushing her down.

"Here you are." He grabbed a small cup from the tray that was filled with a viscous purplish-green fluid.

Violet took the cup and looked into it, her face turned from a look curiosity to a look of disgust.

"What _is_ this?"

"My hangover cure! It's been passed down fwom genewation to genewation. Twy it!" He watched her with sheer anticipation as she hesitantly lifted the cup to her mouth.

"Is she awake Toulouse?" Christian walked in from the hall.

"Abowt! She is still wather, 'dead' if you know what I mean" He laughed and when back to watching the girl, whose eyes were wide and looking into the cup.

How did he know where she lived? Why did he know where she was? Why did he care if she was awake?

Violet took a deep breath and rushed the fluid into her mouth. Toulouse clapped excitedly as she gulped down the substance.

"Dat was amazing!" He smiled. "Even I don't dwink the whole thing!" He shook his head as he grabbed the cup and went back to the kitchen. "She's awll yours Chwistian!" He yelled back.

Violet grabbed her stomach and lad back down. This "Chwistian" looked like he wanted to talk, and all she wanted to do was sleep. Any other time she would GLADLY speak to him, the "hero" he was, but not right now.

"Mademoiselle?" His voice carried throughout the room.

"Monseiur." Violet's voice was cold and uncaring. Christian sat down in a nearby chair.

After a night of sleep and thought, he had decided that this woman wasn't leaving anytime soon and he might as well make peace with her. That, and after a talk with Toulouse early in the morning he had come to the find out that this woman was considerably wealthy.

Of course she had said otherwise; that she was just another worker. The small man, however, could tell there was more to her story. After many hours of searching and near by talk, he had found out that she was in fact, a Benoit and had recently acquired the deeds to the Moulin Rouge.

If she had that kind of money just laying around, she could certainly help publish his book. Sure he would have to write it again, but it was their story. It needed to be told. It was fate that this girl kept falling in his lap. It was fate that she was living in the same building. All he had to do was get her to trust him. If friends helped friends, then wealthy friends helped poor friends.

"Violet." He said, he calm and patient. "Are you alright?"

"I'm in pain. I missed work. I'm bruised everywhere because I'm a clumsy oaf. Not to mention I slept in some odd man's apartment." She gasped then looked at her body then gave a sigh of relief. She was still fully clothed. Violet looked at the man who was dressed in merely slacks and a white shirt. His hair was slightly disheveled but it worked well on him. "How did you find me anyway Monsieur?"

He smiled and ran a hand through his messy hair. One wrong word and he could kiss his plan good-bye. He looked into her eyes and simply said: "Luck."

She sighed and threw her head in her pillow, letting out a long groan.

* * *

_Not one of my better ones, but I felt bad for not updating sooner. Ya win some you lose some._

_I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday! Thank you to all of you who added this story on your alerts/favorites! It totally makes my day :D_

_I am trying to make this as fun and as "exciting" as I can while trying to rush to quickly. I am not a "writer" I just like stories. SO! If you see any MAJOR flaws or what have you, fell free to leave a comment or message me with your questions/concerns._

_deathcab4kimmie: Thank you SOOO much for continuing to read this story! You are amazing! As far as Christian crying, it does get old VERY quickly. Not only for the reader, but you would think for the writer as well. I am trying to go as far from that as I can without totally ruining his character, so, intellectual and sneaky is my route!_

_D.B. Levredge: Thank you very much! I will try not to disappoint._

_LittleMissAngel: That's awesome that you found it again! Thank you for leaving a review :)_

_Pelahnar: I am happy that you chose to read it and found you liked it :D With all of these kinds of stories it's a hit or miss. Haha!_

_Again, thank you so much to all the readers out there! You guys are amazing!_


	8. Words

**WORDS **

_Chapter 8_**  
**  
"Oh! I've got another one," Violet started before she took another large lick of her ice cream cone, "have you read 'The World As I Found It' by Bruce Duffy?"

"I'm telling you Mademoiselle Berry, I have read practically every book in any given bookstore." Christian smiled. He hated to admit it, but he had come to enjoy walking along the streets of Montmartre with his clumsy companion.

"I am going to win one day." She bit into the waffle cone, not noticing the little dollop of melted cream that had fallen onto her rather plain flowery dress.

"And what is it exactly you are winning?" He stopped at a small shop and looked into the window. Violet did the same, her attention focused more on the end of her summer's treat more than the display of different typewriters.

Christian rarely made note of women's clothing. Not because he didn't want to, he had just lost interest in the whole subject all together. However, on this particular day, Violet happened to be wearing something that peeked said dormant interest: a simple flowery dress and a matching bonnet. This outfit, when she had usually worn grand skirts with corsets and hats the size of a tire, seemed...wrong. Perhaps it was the fact that he knew her true name now, or maybe it was the fact that she had a certain _royal_ like feeling all around her, but "_normal_" was not in fact_ normal _for the woman walking next to him.

"I am going to find a book one day that I have read and you monsieur, have not." She looked down and noticed the now melted stain. "Isn't it just my luck? A new dress and I go off and ruin it." She licked her finger and tried to removed the melted substance without success.

"The dress didn't suit you anyway." Christian's eyes were still looking at the machines making it hard for Violet to understand if he had meant it or it just slipped out; which still meant he meant it, but it would be less hurtful if he had kept it to himself.

Christian had in fact _not _realized the words that had passed through his mouth. Over the past few weeks, he had been building up a, well, some would call it "friendship" with the secret Benoit. Whenever he was not with the young woman he was working tirelessly on rewriting his book.

Tragically, early that morning, his typewriter had died.

"Fitting," He had told himself as he looked over the remains of his friend. "although I would have waited until after my job was done." He picked up the hunk of metal and shoved it under his bed.

The loss of his inanimate friend and the search for a new one has now placed him a rather bizarre position.

"I'm sorry?" Violet's eyes were wide as she froze. No one had ever said anything against what she wore. Everyone had looked to her for style advice. "Where should I get my hats?" "What style of skirt would be better for my figure?"

"What do you mean 'didn't suit you?'"

Christian was still facing the window, not entirely looking at the new make and models but rather, hiding from her intense hazel glare. "I didn't say that." 'Simple. Clean.' He thought. 'Can follow it up with anything.'

"Didn't say it? Then who did? That man over there?" Violet pointed across the street to a homeless man who was fast asleep on what appeared to be a pile of old newspapers.

"I just meant," He turned, partly to look at where she was pointing, but mainly to see how she looked angry. He had seen her happy, sad and even drunk, but never angry. He was curious."That you are not a flower-" It was then that Christian did a double take to the sleeping man. "My book!" He shouted as he ran across the street.

* * *

Jasper Depaul paced back in fourth in the nearly finished office of the Moulin Rouge. In the passage of six weeks the whole of the Moulin Rouge was almost completely restored. 'That's what money will get you.' He had thought. The office was filled with the light and warmth of several candles, all of which had just about lived their life.

A knock.

Jasper twirled around to face the door, fixing his hair ever so slightly. "Come in." He said, his voice had a twinge of excitement. This feeling was killed by the reappearance of Harold Zidler.

"Jasper," He began.

"It's Monsieur DePaul, if you don't mind." He was irritated. More than irritated. Enraged. Tonight was the night he had been waiting for to tell Violet that he knew how her family would except her back. He had discussed it with them.

Tonight was the night, Jasper was going to propose.

Jasper was a wealthy man, known throughout all of society and his popularity, even now, had been rising. Not to mention the fact that they had known each other for what seemed like a life time. The Benoit family would get their daughter back to a reputable station and he would get their fortune.

Knowing that Violet never missed a day in her precious the Moulin Rouge, he set up a lavish display in her office. Dozens and dozens of roses lined the walls, petals filled the floor to where it seemed plush. The same fire light emitting from the candles bounced off the roses to give the room a red hue. The setting gave a new meaning to the word "romatic".

"Monsieur DePaul, she isn't coming. It's past working hours...we must lock up now." Zidler seemed reserved. He had seen this happen before, a man, waiting. He didn't like it.

Jasper turned to the window and behind the roses saw the sun setting, burning the evening sky. He grabbed one of the vases and lifted it up to throw it to the ground, but stopped. With a deep sigh and a fake smile, he placed it back down.

"Tomorrow." He said. "Tomorrow."

* * *

_I know...hate me...short and it's been forever since I updated. _  
_My excuse? I have been painstakingly writing a script for a webseires hittin' the net in October called "Reaching Fangasm" _  
_Fangasm being a convention. The characters fly all through these different fandoms all to pick a costume for the convention and-_  
_Its great! Just you wait!_

_ANYWAY! Since I am on my apologies, I hope this chapter was ok. More of a fluffy than anything. NONE THE LESS! I updated *dances* _

_OH! And sorry for misspellings/grammar errors...I do this for fun, not for a living. :P_

_Pelahnar**: **It seems he did, thank you for commenting! :D _

_QuitMessingAround: Awe! Your comment made ME smile! You are awesome and thank you for reading/commenting! _

_The MagiciansGrace: I am so happy you like it and I know how you feel about the OC thing (I've had my ups and downs with reading them). I also really appreciate you giving it a chance. Thank you so much! (Might I add, YAY EWAN!) _

* * *

_For more information on "Reaching Fangasm" or even if you just want to know what other crazy stuff I like, you can find my tumblr on my profile!_


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